


Rushing Like River Water; Running On Fumes

by gregorianHaus



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Archie Andrews, F/M, Hurt Archie Andrews, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Archie Andrews, Self-Harm, Statutory Rape, angsty but im a sucker for a happy ending, bi-ace jughead, but also if ur willing to beta riverdale fics @ me, im a slut for constructive criticism, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 14:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gregorianHaus/pseuds/gregorianHaus
Summary: Archie Andrews doesn’t like to think about it.He doesn’t like to lie in bed late at night, thinking about the first time she looked at him. Her shades barely concealing the predatory look in her eye as she rolled past. Offering him a ‘ride’ with a dangerous lilt to her voice.He doesn’t like to shuffle through his locker and hear the echo of her name in the hall. Finding himself falling through the floor into thoughts of exploring hands and the reverberations of distant gunshots and rushing water.He doesn’t like to think about the last time he saw her, replaying it over and over in his head, thinking of everything he did wrong.But if there’s anything he has learned from this experience, its that reality isn’t dictated by what Archie Andrewslikes.AU where the Grundy stuff happens first and Geraldine hops town before anyone finds out about her and Archie.





	Rushing Like River Water; Running On Fumes

Archie Andrews doesn’t like to think about it.

He doesn’t like to lie in bed late at night, thinking about the first time she looked at him. Her shades barely concealing the predatory look in her eye as she rolled past. Offering him a ‘ride’ with a dangerous lilt to her voice.

He doesn’t like to shuffle through his locker and hear the echo of her name in the hall. Finding himself falling through the floor into thoughts of exploring hands and the reverberations of distant gunshots and rushing water.

He doesn’t like to think about the last time he saw her, replaying it over and over in his head, thinking of everything he did wrong. 

But if there’s anything he has learned from this experience, its that reality isn’t dictated by what Archie Andrews _likes_.

 

\--

 

Archie sprints down the hall, sneaker squeaking against the marble floor, and bursts into the music room. Geraldine startles, jerking her bow over her bass.

“Archie? Wh-”

"-Weatherbee just asked me if I knew anything about Jason!"

"And? What did you say?", she bolts upward and he find it momentarily ironic that this is the most interested in his _words_ she’d ever been.

"Nothing! That I didn't. But he said if I did, I shouldn't be scared and he'd make sure I was okay."

"Of course he would. You're his student.", she says with a tone that sounds weirdly condescending.

He pauses, considering what he’s about to do and then Weatherbee’s offer. He doesn’t know if it’s worth it. But what the hell does he know about worth.

"Is this-? How you feel about me, is it real? Because if it's not, then I don't know what I'm protecting." 

He hadn’t planned it, but the second it left his lips, he knew what he was doing. 

This was an ultimatum. They both knew that she didn't love him, not anymore. But if he could make her maintain this charade, just for a little while longer, he could _pretend_. 

"...it is. It is real.”, she swallows thickly, “Maybe It's not right... but it's real. It's why we- You can't... go to Weatherbee.", she shuffles closer, her intense gaze making his breath feel short in a familiar way.

"If you do that.. we will never see each other again. Archie, I'm putting myself in your hands.", she whispers, leaning into him. Filling him with hope or something adjacent.

 

\--

 

That was the last time he ever saw her.

 

\--

 

After Geraldine skips town, the next couple weeks are hectic. 

With his hobbies, Betty, the new girl Veronica, and the whole Jason thing occupying his time, he barely has time to ponder why he sometimes sees a woman with a certain silhouette and his lungs forget to work. 

Anyway, he has a team now. They rely on him, and his friends trust him to be the peppy boy-next-door he’s always been, so he can’t afford to be anything less than fine.

And he is fine. 

 

\--

 

Archie finally realises something is wrong with him when he kisses Veronica. 

Well if he’s being realistic, (not his speciality) he's known there’s been something wrong for a long time but it's only now been pushed to the forefront. 

Veronica and him are stuck in a tiny closet (thanks, _Cheryl_ ) and he's saying something inane, asking about New York, when Veronica asks him about Betty. He’s uncomfortable but she looks determined, so he turns it over in his mind until he finds that he can’t answer. 

Betty had always been his best friend. They grew up next to each other, went to all the same classes, spent _innumerable_ hours at Pop’s talking about nothing. 

He loves her. He can’t imagine a world in which he wouldn't always love her. Platonically, of course.

He’s trying to explain how he never really thought of Betty that way, when suddenly, Veronica takes a tiny step closer. His breathe stutters and she takes another, microscopically small step towards him and he sees desire in her ~~hazel~~ dark brown eyes.

“We shouldn’t do this”

He knows Veronica’s talking about Betty but he’s thinking of _her_ when he replies,

“We definitely shouldn’t do this.”, and surges forward.

Veronica kisses him with a controlled passion. Her lips move against his in an unfamiliar but exciting way. She’s flush against him, warm and inviting, when she slides her hands upwards and his brain stops working.

She’s tugging at his hair.

Geraldine used to do that. She would sneak her hands up onto his scalp, a gentle, but warning pressure, until he did something wrong and she would yank his head back to scold him. 

Archie always did something wrong.

Suddenly, he’s aware of just how tiny the closet is. 

How little air there is in the room. How Veronica’s hands are ~~yanking~~ gently tugging at his hair. How the mouth against his that was moments ago inviting and warm, feels invasive, stealing his breath in the worst possible way.

Veronica, perceptive as she is, quickly seems to get the memo he’s not kissing back. She leans back, eyes unable to meet his, glassy and unfocused. After a moment that feels like a millennia, Veronica slouches a touch and sighs. 

“Maybe you should reevaluate your relationship with Betty.”, she says with a tone he can’t place at the moment.

He barely feels it as she kisses him on the cheek one last time and leaves him alone in the closet.

The door clicks shut behind her and his brain takes the cue to finally realise he hasn’t been breathing for the last minute. He gasps as he sinks to the closet floor, still feeling phantom hands twisting in his hair. Gripping tightly onto the back of his skull. 

He spends another few pathetic minutes crumpled on the floor of the closet, trying to catch his breath for reasons he doesn’t quite understand, before he finally picks himself up and gets the hell out of there.

 

\--

 

An hour later Archie finds himself at Pop’s, still trying to cool down from his- from whatever the hell that was. He steps inside and the doorbell chimes, the neon lights wash over him and the smell of greasy dinner food welcomes him home. 

He looks around and suddenly wishes there was more than one good dinner in town when he makes eye contact with Jughead. He's sitting by himself in a booth, sullen features illuminated by his laptop.

He contemplates, just for a second, leaving right then. After the night he’s already had, he feels drained and additional social interaction feels out of the question.

But those thoughts go up in smoke when he remembers what a bad friend he’s been to Jughead over the past couple of months. It's the guilt that guides his feet and leads him to walk over and ask to sit down.

They talk for a bit, trying to fill the uncomfortable, stale air between them. They used to be able to sit in an amicable silence. They'd spend hours in Archie’s room performing their individual tasks; without a word but comforted by the silent support of a friend. Now, it feels like the second one of them stops talking the silence will swallow them whole.

So they talk about Jug’s novel, Archie’s new place on the football team and ‘Official Jock Status’. Jughead says something about Betty joining the cheer squad, and it's only then that Archie realises while he was busy freaking out about nothing, he was probably also losing his best friend. 

He decides to air this concern and Jughead scoffs,  
“If you mean Betty, whatever happened just talk to her man. It would go a long way.”

Jughead pauses for a second and lifts his eyes from his laptop.

“Would’ve gone a long way with me.”

Archie feels a wave of inadequacy crash into his stomach and lets out a shaky exhale. He knows Jughead is right. But how the hell are you supposed to tell your best friend since middle school that you abandoned him for a woman you had just met? A woman who abandoned you in kind? He couldn’t fathom that fixing anything.

But Jughead was still right. He had to talk to Betty.

He’s about to leave the booth to do just that when Jughead gently grabs his wrist and looks at him with a critical eye.

“You can…” he trails off.

“Jug?”

“You- Just go talk to her, man.”

“Okay.”

 

\--

 

And that’s how Archie found himself facing Betty, standing on the doorstep outside of her house at two am. _‘On a school night!’_ she might scold under any other circumstances.

Betty is still in the dress she wore at the party. The silky pink fabric and her equally silky curls contrast with her bloodshot eyes and mascara smeared cheeks. She looks beautiful, despite everything.

“I’m not gonna ask what you did with Veronica at Cheryl’s.”, Betty fists at the skirt of her dress, nails digging into the fabric, “I’m asking you now. Right now. If you love me, Archie? Or even like me?”, she looks up at him, glassy-eyed, and a wave of guilt splashes over him.

“Of course i love you Betty-” 

He does. He loves her more than he loves music, or football, or Ger- 

“-But I can’t give you the answer you want.” 

“Why?”, Betty looks painfully hopeless, but he’s a coward. He can’t find the strength to tell her the truth. 

He wasn’t good enough for Geraldine and he’s certainly not good enough for her. She deserves better than this version of him; the torn up pieces that Geraldine left behind. 

“I-”, he starts to stutter out an excuse, or an apology, or something, but she cuts him off. Seeing the look on his face was enough.

“You don’t have to say anything, Archie.”, she sniffles softly and attempts a smile as she turns around, leaving him standing on her doorstep.

He thinks he’s starting to get used to being left behind.

 

\--

 

Eventually, Archie, Betty and Veronica make up. 

With the help of Jughead, who is slowly coaxed into their growing group after Archie apologises for being a bad friend, Betty seems to get over Archie, spending less time with him in lieu of ‘investigative journalism’ with Jug. 

He doesn’t know how he feels about it

But now that he’s largely only seeing his friends at lunch, he has to fill the rest of the time to keep his mind ~~off her~~ occupied.

So, Archie Andrews stays busy.

He goes to class, talks to his friends, and practises with the Pussycats; who finally seem to accept him as some sort of musical collaborator.

He tries to actually _write_ songs, but every time the blank sheets lead him back to memories of leather seats sticking to his back and a hand over his mouth, so he usually just ends up practising the same songs over and over until his fingertips go numb.

Still, he has more time to occupy, so during the day he plays football. His team is _nothing_ if not well trained. 

Then, at night, after he spends a couple hours staring up at the ceiling listening to distant sound ebb and flow like river water, he gets up and jogs around the neighbourhood until his lungs burn. 

It’s not a perfect system, but in all honesty, he can’t fathom the alternative. Mainly, because that would involve Archie actually leaving himself time to fathom.

However, after one too many nights mindlessly jogging around Riverdale suburbia, he realises he’s outside of Geraldine’s house.

Well, technically it’s not her house anymore. Her vintage teal Beetle has been replaced by some generic-looking hatchback. The front garden looks different too. Cared for, maybe.

He spends a few minutes there, staring blankly at this quaint little house that used to be her’s. The house he never actually stepped inside throughout their whole affair. Then again, affair is perhaps too optimistic a word. A fling might be more accurate. You don’t let your flings into your house, only your bed. 

Somewhere, a dog barks and Archie sprints all the way back home.

He sneaks back up into his room and finds that his hands are shaking as he turns the doorknob and shuts the door behind him. 

He feels numb but his hands just won’t stop trembling so he hits them against his dresser. 

The thudding pain doesn’t feel good but it does feel like _something_ so he does it again. And again. 

And he suddenly remembers the punching bag in the corner that he bought in middle school but never had the consistency to use.

So, Archie Andrews has a new routine.

He goes to class, talks to his friends, plays guitar with the Pussycats and practises with his team. Then, he goes home, does his homework, jogs around the neighbourhood or hangs out at Pop’s. And repeat.

And if sometimes that routine also includes beating his fists against a punching bag in the wee hours of the morning until his knuckles split instead of sleeping, it helps him keep his head blank. Who could blame him?

 

\--

 

Jughead Jones, apparently.

 

\--

 

“Hey Archie, you doin’ okay, man?”, Jughead inquires one afternoon, when they’re all sitting at their bench outside during lunch.

“Huh, uhh, yeah? Why, what’s up?”

“Your hands are bleeding on the table.”

He looks down to find his hands were, in fact, bleeding on the table.

“Archie!”, Betty exclaims, beginning to rifle through her bag, “Let me see if I have any bandages!”

“What happened, Archiekins?”, Veronica says, examining his knuckles.

“Yeah, who’s honor have you been defending now, Arch.”, Jug says with a wry smile and Archie chest warms.

“I’ve just been doing some extra training. For football.”

Veronica nods but Jughead gives him an outwardly suspicious look.

“Right-”

“-Aha! Here we go!”

Betty gently takes his hand in hers and begins to wrap his knuckles. 

“Well at least no one else is gonna be trying to take our table.”, Veronica says, glancing at the red patch that was already soaking into the wood.

 

\--

 

Half an hour later, Archie is walking to class when he feels someone grab him by the wrist, pull him into the empty music room, and corner him against the wall.

He doesn't have time to be short of breath before the person grabbing him speaks.

“Archie, what the hell?”, Jughead is there and he looks equal parts concerned and pissed.

“What? Jughead?”

“What the hell was that at lunch, man?”

“Football practise, I told y-”

“-No, Archie. You’ve been weird lately. I’ve been trying to give you space and ignore it, but obviously it isn’t working.”, he says, furrowed brow not matching the way he worriedly runs his fingers over Archie’s knuckles. 

“Jughead, I’m fine, I just-”

“-You just what, Archie? You’ve been acting off since the summer and I thought you where just being a dick at first, but it’s been months! I- I thought we were talking again.”

Archie doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything.

“I just wanna know what’s wrong, man. Something’s up with you.”

What’s wrong? Archie is what’s wrong. Him and his fucked up brain.

“I’ve just ...been stressed lately. With school.”, Archie says, like a liar.

“I know that’s not all, Archie. And if you ever have trouble with that stuff you know Betty and I will help you, right?”

“Yeah, of course, Jug.”

Jughead looks at him with scrutiny. His gaze is sharp and analytical and Archie needs nothing more in that moment than to get him to look away.

“So, uhh, can you and Betty help me study for the history exam?”, Archie attempts.

“Tonight?”

“Umm, i mean, whenever is good for you guys-”

“-Tonight.”, Jughead says with an air of finality. 

He’s probably planning something, but Archie is too stuck on getting away from his searching eyes to care.

“Okay?”, Archie replies, but Jughead is already out the door by the time the syllables leave his mouth.

 

\--

 

Archie realises that night, when they’re all squashed into a booth at Pop’s, that he probably shouldn’t have used an exam he already studied for as an excuse to get Jughead off his back.

He’s looks up from the notes he’s already re-read half a dozen times, and looks over the dinner, feeling an odd moment of calm. 

Veronica is squinting at something on the textbook in front of her, while Kevin attempts to give an abridged summary of the Korean War through a mouthful of milkshake. Betty looks on, unimpressed, and Jughead is almost pointedly not listening, typing away at something unrelated on his laptop. 

The rest of the dinner is relatively empty, save for Pop, an elderly couple he doesn’t know, and Cheryl and the Pussycats a couple booths away.

It’s because of this emptiness that Archie’s ears hone in on the drone of the small television that Pop has suspended over the counter. He turns his head to look at the TV and freezes.

He can’t quite make out the audio over the blood rushing in his ears, but broadly displayed on the screen is a picture of Geraldine Grundy. The name Jennifer Gibson is captioned underneath.

Her glasses are missing and her hair is pulled back in the style she wore at school; strict and tight, and so unlike when she and Archie were alone.

When it was just the two of them, she would always let her hair down. He used to love the way the tresses fell softly onto her shoulders. The tips of her locks would tickle his face as she bore down on him, as she gnawed at his throat and yanked his head back and-

He excuses himself as gracefully as he can from the cramped booth and power walks to the bathroom, static filling his ears.

The door swings shut heavily behind him and the bathroom air is heavy and stifling. Archie immediately regrets not rushing outside when he feels his lungs start to constrict.

He catches a glimpse of his red eyes and shaky form as he clambers into a stall and locks the door in a final attempt at privacy. He slides down the wall of the cubicle, clutching the front of his shirt, the collar suddenly far too tight and restrictive around his throat. 

The bathroom door start to squeak open, but it sounds vague and distant behind Archie’s panting breath.

“Archie?” 

It's Jughead.

Archie tries to reply, but it comes out as more of a wheeze and he sees more than feels the world tip as he slumps further to the ground.

He must make some sort of audible sound though, because Jughead starts to insistently knock on the stall door.

“Archie, open the door!”

Archie can’t even _imagine_ reaching all the way to the lock from where he is, the world narrowing to the blood in his ears and the cold tile below him.

He closes his eyes for a second, trying and failing to even out his desperate wheezing breath and suddenly Jughead is climbing over the stall wall. He crouches down in front of Archie and Archie can barely feel Jughead grab onto his shoulders. His entire body feels fuzzy and he thinks he might pass out.

“Archie, I need you to listen to me okay? Hey, look at me, man.”

He tries to make eye contact but Jughead looks blurry and his world keeps shifting.

“Yeah, just like that, okay? Okay, what we’re gonna do is breathe in through our noses for five seconds and then out through our mouths for five. Like this.”

The vague, Jughead-shaped blob looks more worried than Archie has ever seen him, so he tries to copy his awkward breathing pattern with initially little success. Jughead won’t let him quit though, so he keeps trying until he’s got it down pat.

Archie exhales again and lets his head roll backwards, relaxing against the cool stall wall. The air is still heavy but he can finally refocus himself to properly gaze up at Jughead, who’s still crouched uncomfortably in front of him.

“Thanks.”

Jughead seems to relax at Archie’s coherence, and lowers himself to sit on the floor. They both close their eyes for a second; decompressing and enjoying the momentary lack of chaos. 

“So, there’s no way _that_ was school related.”

Jughead peaks an eye open to gauge Archie’s reaction.

“Ha, I dunno’, Ms Franco can be pretty terrifying.”

Jughead looks bemused, but still sighs and puts his hand on Archie’s forearm.

“Archie, we have to talk about this.”

“Can’t we just... not? We could do the whole ‘nod like douches and mutually suppress our emotions’ thing again?”

“Archie, please-”

“-Just not right now, okay? Can we just, do this later?”

Archie stands up, unlocks the stall and leans against the sink. He looks surprisingly normal for someone that just had a small mental breakdown. Though, his version of normal has been decreasing in quality lately.

Jughead’s reflection settles behind Archie’s own. Concern settled into his brow.

“...ok, but I’m coming over later. And we’re talking this out.”

Archie splashes and rubs his face with water in lieu of replying, and by the time he looks back up the bathroom door is already swinging shut. Typical.

 

\--

 

The rest of the ‘study session’ passes uneventfully. 

After Archie insists he and Jughead were just having ‘bro talk’ for the eleventh time, everyone seems to forgive their short absence and get back to arguing about important topics, such as which flavor of milkshake is superior, and stealing each others fries.

Eventually, everyone comes to terms with the fact that the guise of studying has been broken and it is, in fact, a school night. So Archie slips out, knowing if he stays too long Jughead will offer him a ride home and he won’t get his evening jog in.

His dad isn’t there when he gets home, probably out somewhere being wined and dined by Hermione Lodge, so he heads straight to his room. He doesn’t bother showering, flopping down onto his bed and promptly passing out.

He has no way of knowing how much time has passed when he wakes to his bedroom door creaking open and Betty calling his name.

He gazes blearily at Betty and Jughead. They’re both standing in his doorframe, seemingly nervous to actually cross the threshold.

“Uh, hey, guys. What’s up?”, Archie says, tossing his sheets off and ignoring Betty eyeing his fully clothed frame.

“We’re here to talk.”, Jughead says resolutely, striding over to his bed and plopping down with purpose. Betty follows, though with less gravitas, and awkwardly hovers near the bed instead of sitting down.

“What do you wanna talk about?”, Archie plays dumb and Jughead raises his brow, unimpressed.

“You. What’s been up with you lately. You said we’d talk later and later is now.”

“I’ve just… been stressed-”

“-About school? Heard that excuse already, man. Try again.”

Jughead’s mix of determination and concern is quickly morphing into a mix of determination and annoyance. Archie feels bad for anyone Jughead has interrogated before. The mood is tense and Archie knows they just want to help, but that doesn’t stop his hands from fisting in his sheets so hard his joints ache.

"I can’t do this.", Archie tries and Jughead’s jaw visibly clenches.

"What? What exactly can't you do Archie? Tell the truth? 

“Jug-”, Betty tries to interject.

"-What happened? You've been lying to me since summer break! I don't know what happened but I trust you! So why the fuck can't you just talk to me?”

Archie’s mind was racing. A million different things flashed through his mind and yet he couldn't seem to articulate any of them. He knows whatever he says will come out messy and inaccurate. He isn’t like Jughead. He can’t wax lyrical poetry about how desperate he was for Geraldine's attention. 

He was hurt that she left, but he knows why she did. She must have known. Must have known something was wrong with him, even before she left. Because Archie chose this, he chose to get in the car that day. He knew what he had signed up for. But then he didn’t. He tried to stop it but it was already happening and it was too late and _he chose this_.

“D- do you remember the old music teacher?”, Archie asks, voice surprisingly even.

“What does that have to-”

“-Yeah, Ms. Grundy, right?”, Betty interrupts Jughead with a look.

“Yeah, well Gerald-Grundy and I… we uhh.. were in a relationship.”, he says the last part quickly, as if maybe they won’t be able to register what he said if he strings it together fast enough.

Evidently, it doesn’t work, as Betty’s face barely has the time to distort in shock before she schools her expression into something unreadable. Jughead, on the other hand, immediately stills. He looks frozen, as if he isn’t even breathing.

“What kind of relationship, Archie?”, Betty asks after a moment, as if she doesn’t already know.

“Like a- a _relationship_ relationship. We uh, you know? Dated?”

Dated is definitely not the right word, but Archie’s brain can’t deal with thinking about this thing with Geraldine on a good day and he is absolutely not at full capacity right now. 

Not to mention, Jughead still hasn’t said anything. Which is not really helping Archie’s zen levels at the moment. And oh jeez, they are clearly judging him. They've finally figured out how disgusting and desperate he is. How-

“Archie, breath.”

“I’m breathing. I’m totally breathing.” 

Archie was not breathing.

“Okay, relax, we’re not... _judging you_ or... whatever. We’re just trying to figure out what happened, okay?”, Betty assures, finally sitting down on the bed next to him to rub small circles into his back.

“Yep, totally okay.”

Absolutely not okay. 

Archie takes a moment to breath before trying to explain himself. Try being the operative word.

“I’m just kinda messed up about it okay? She- she didn’t even say goodbye. Before she left, I mean. All that time we spent together and? Not even a text?”, though that would entail them actually exchanging numbers, “I get that, maybe it didn't mean anything to her. Maybe to her, it was just a fling. But it meant something to me.”

Finally, Jughead speaks, “You, you know that’s not normal? Right? That she shouldn’t have… she was in a position of power over you, Archie.”

“And like, a decade older.”, adds Betty. She shares a troubled look with Jughead and Archie wishes he was in on whatever shared revelation they seemed to just have.

“Wait, is this why you freaked out at Pop’s?”

“I didn't ‘freak out’, I just-”

“-Had a panic attack in a dinner bathroom?”

“Archie? You what?”, Archie didn’t think Betty could look more concerned. He was wrong.

“It was nothi-”, he’s cut off by Betty wrapping her arms around him in a firm embrace. It’s weird, that he used to be so familiar with her casual touch and now he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Or his arms. Or himself in general, really.

“No, Archie. It’s not nothing. You’re hurting. And we care about you, we wanna be there for you, okay?”, she looks up at him with concern and hope in her puppy dog eyes. He couldn’t possibly say no.

A moment later, Jughead sighs audibly and hesitantly joins in on the embrace, “You better appreciate this, man. I’m not a huggy kinda guy.”

Archie laughs and finally encases the two of them in his arms. A hug won’t fix what’s wrong with him, but it’s a start.

 

\--

 

“You jogged home didn’t you.”, Betty asks, tentatively ruining the moment.

“Uh, yeah, how did you-”

“You smell. You smell _really bad_.”, Jughead says, breaking down into childish giggles and setting Betty off too. Though, she at least has the manners to try to muffle her quiet laughter into Archie’s chest.

Archie pulls back a little, “Hey! You don’t smell like roses either! I’m half convinced you have never washed that hat.”

“He’d have to actually take it off to wash it.”, Betty interjects and Jughead scoffs dramatically.

“I can’t believe I’m being bullied about MY hygiene when we are both huddled up in Mr. B.O. here!”

Betty exchanges a look with Archie and her face cracks into a grin, “What can I say Jug? I’m weird, I’m a weirdo, i just don't fit in-”

“-This must be how Caesar felt.”

 

\--

 

They don’t wheedle him for anymore details the rest of the night, but they do insist on sleeping over and talking some more in the morning. 

Something which proves not to be the worst idea in the world.

It is hard, words like statutory rape and consent get thrown around over breakfast and they feel like twin blanket terms thrown onto his king-sized bed full of issues. 

It also helps though, to have people that understand why he sometimes can’t stand the idea of pushing through the crowded morning hall to get to his locker. People that will come over and talk to him about everything and nothing in the dead of night, when he can’t hear anything but the blood in his ears. People that will patiently wrap his wounded knuckles until they heal.

He takes down his punching bag.

There is one small downside to telling them though; Betty Cooper has never been a good liar and after watching her struggle for a couple weeks, it becomes less painful to ask her to tell Kevin and Veronica. 

There isn’t much they can actually _do_ after the fact, but Betty and Kevin convince Archie to talk to Sheriff Keller, and Veronica vows to use her ‘mob daughter powers’ on Geraldine if she ever does come back. 

To his surprise, one day, Archie considers this and finds that he doesn’t really care. 

He doesn’t care when he’s with Kevin and Veronica at Pop’s after school, gossiping about their latest ‘sexploits’, arguing about whether or not x celebrity could pull off x fashion faux pas, and laughing til' their cheeks ache.

He still doesn’t care when he has practise sessions with Josie and the Pussycats. An increasing amount of which escalate into Josie and Archie screaming the lyrics of trashy, 4-chord, non-denominational pop songs at each other, until Weatherbee himself checks in to see if someone is being murdered.

And even when he does care, when the sun has set and his room is filled with the sounds of soft breathing and rushing water, he looks upon Betty and Jughead’s sleeping forms. 

The curve of Betty’s jaw, soft but sharp, just like her. The shape of Jughead’s hands, rough and calloused, but still gentle and grounding when he needs them to be. 

He finds that, even when he does care, there are other things more worthy of his time.

**Author's Note:**

> as an aussie typing the word ‘fries’ caused me physical pain. but i did it for archie. my big dumb baby boi


End file.
